


The Burial and Reburial Rituals of St. Olaf

by obiwamkenobbly (emmykay)



Category: Derry Girls (TV), Golden Girls
Genre: Dialogue, Ensemble - Freeform, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmykay/pseuds/obiwamkenobbly
Summary: The Golden Girls take a trip to Derry.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30
Collections: CAILURE EXCHANGE 2020





	The Burial and Reburial Rituals of St. Olaf

**Author's Note:**

> FOR #8
> 
> The cemetery link from which I took the description of Cecil Frances Alexander: https://www.irishtimes.com/culture/heritage/50-irish-graves-to-visit-before-you-die-1.2759364
> 
> I am so sorry in advance. I've never been to Ireland.

"We come all the way to Northern Ireland and yet we end up in a cemetery and not somewhere we could meet someone living," Blanche said as she picked her way through the neatly mowed turf in her high heels. "Can you explain to me why, again?"

"You mean meet some man," Sophia said.

"There's a lot of history you can learn from cemeteries. Like what the important people did here, what it meant for their communities, and what the not so important people's lives were like," Dorothy replied, stolidly marching along in her sensible shoes.

"I like to know where the bodies are kept," Sophia replied.

Rose said, "The cemetery in St. Olaf has the actual burial place of the real St. Olaf. I mean, after Erik the Red Handed stole his body from Norway and brought it over."

"Really?" Dorothy asked while Blanche and Sophia rolled their eyes.

"Yes. And every five years, there's somebody who gets the honor of digging him up to make sure he's still there."

"What!?" exclaimed Dorothy.

"Well, sure. We want to make sure he hadn't yet fallen into the town black hole."

Dorothy closed her eyes for a moment. "I know I shouldn't ask but why, Rose, why would you check a man's burial place if it hadn't fallen into the black hole if the actual plot doesn't move?"

Blanche smirked and said, "Men do tend to suffer if ignored for a bit. That's why I do what I do."

"You're a real Mother Theresa for the geriatric Ron Jeremy set," Sophia said.

Ignoring Blanche, Rose said, "We move St. Olaf each time we dig him up. That way, the black hole will never know where he is." She paused. "Well, a couple of times people did forget the last place we put him. The last time, Torbvald Toyvaldyk, he was the honorary digger, had to go digging around everybody's back yard until he found the body."

"Oh my god," Dorothy said.

Interest piqued, Sophia asked, "How did they know he found the right body?"

"MA!" 

"In Sicily, you would have had to check dental records!"

"St. Olaf is wrapped in a golden cape with his name on it, so he won't get lost. The next time St. Olaf was dug up, " Rose continued earnestly, "they made sure they didn't pick a nymphomaniac who had sexually induced amnesia syndrome."

"Come again?" asked Blanche. "I think I missed something."

"Yes, exactly," Rose said. She smiled. "I'm so glad you understand."

A small group of teenagers in casual clothing, a quartet of girls and a boy, were standing in front of a large cement Celtic cross. 

"These must be the rest of the tour group," Dorothy said. "Hello? Are you also here for the tour?"

The teens made general noises of assent. "Are you American?" excitedly asked the one with longer blonde hair. "All of you?"

Blanche smiled. "I'm from Georgia, but we all live together in Florida."

"Are you sisters, then?" asked the boy.

"No," Blanche said, laughing. "Can't you tell? We don't look alike at all."

"You're all so old - " 

Blanche sent him a piercing glare. "Excuse me?"

The boy was quickly hip checked by the girl with the long dark hair. 

"Sorry about that," she said. "He's English." To the boy, she snapped, "Shut the feck up, you eejit. The answer is not telling someone they're old. Don't you know anything about talking to people?"

"So," Dorothy asked, "Are the rest of you from here? What are you doing here?"

The shortest one with the round face said, "We've got a school project about cemetery history."

Dorothy nodded, the I-told-you-so vibes coming off her so strongly that the rest of her friends ignored her completely.

Blanche smiled, gesturing to each woman in turn. "I'm Blanche, these are my friends, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia."

"I'm Erin," the first girl replied. "These are my friends; Clare, Michelle, Orla, and that one's James."

"Is it a group project?" asked Sophia.

"I'm here because the tour guide is a complete ride," Michelle offered.

"Michelle!" scolded Clare. 

"What? It isn't like it's a secret that Billy Donohue is a ride."

"We're in a cemetery," said James. "It isn't decent."

"James, come on, I bet even the dead bodies in here know it. That's how massive a ride Billy Donohue is."

"I just like the cemetery," Orla said. "So peaceful. And there's also the chance you get to see faeries."

Clare said, "There is no way you could see faeries in a cemetery. It's consecrated land."

Rose said, "I've seen faeries in a cemetery. But they were Viking faeries."

Enraptured, Orla said, "That sounds lovely. Do you think we might have Viking faeries in Derry?"

"I don't think we even have Vikings in Derry, Orla!" Erin said. 

"We did, Erin. Early Irish history. Vikings came in their longboats and tried to spread their pagan ways," said Clare.

"Well, we don't any more, then," Erin replied.

"I think I could get extra credit if I found faeries in Derry," said Orla.

"For the love of god," Dorothy said. She turned to Orla and gestured to Rose. "Do not listen to this woman. Not a single word. She is completely insane."

"She doesn't need a warning. It won't work," Erin said. "Orla's my cousin and she's completely off her head."

Erin and Dorothy shared a long-suffering look.

Michelle reached behind one of the headstones.

"What're you doing, Michelle?" James asked, scandalized.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Michelle pulled out a flask and brandished it about.

"I thought you were here to meet the tour guide," James said.

"Do you think I give a fuck about what you think, huh, James?" Michelle snarled, and took a defiant shot.

"Michelle, please don't," Erin said. "We're in front of _Americans._ " She gave an awkward smile to the aforementioned group. "Sorry. We're really not drunks." She pointed at Michelle. "Just her."

"They're not watching," Michelle said. "They're still boggled by Orla. Should be. I mean, she's your cousin and everything, but she's already gone with the faeries."

"Yeah, and we're doing this for school. Michelle, If you drink and act out and that messes up my grades, I- I won't be able to handle it," Clare declared. "I need this to get out of detention with Sister Michael. I can't take another session. Not since Sister Declan."

"Look, she died all by herself. It's not like it had anything to do with us," Michelle said.

"Not with us," Erin hissed, as if she were litigating a long on-going dispute. "It was your lipstick."

"You yourself said she was 98. It was her time. If only she'd had some fun before then, maybe she wouldn't have stolen my lipstick!" Michelle took another swig.

A few more minutes passed with Dorothy periodically checking her watch. "Well, girls," she addressed the group with a final sigh. "It looks like the tour guide isn't coming. They're already 20 minutes late."

"Fecking Billy Donohue," Michelle muttered. 

"Oh no," said Rose to Dorothy. "What do you want to do?"

"It's all right, I have a guide book. We can do this ourselves." Dorothy held up said book.

"I'm sorry, but can I come along?" asked Clare. She held up a notebook. "I need to do something for this report I've got to hand in."

"Sure, honey," Blanche said.

They walked along for a moment, and came across a large cross above a slab. At the base of the slab was a plaque that read "Alexander."

Dorothy read out loud, "Cecil Frances Alexander. It says she wrote some hymns, All Things Bright and Beautiful, Once in Royal David's City and There is a Green Hill Far Away."

"Never heard of them," Michelle said.

"They're Anglican," James replied. All the girls looked at him. "What? I was raised in England!"

Dorothy continued, "She was born in Dublin in 1818, but her birth date is sometimes given as 1825-"

"Truly, a modern woman," Blanche said. "Like I always say, keep them guessing."

"-because she married a clergyman who was six years younger than she was-"

"Good for her." Blanche nodded approvingly.

Michelle said, "I bet he was a ride and a half. Those clergymen probably are all pent up with all that being moral bullshit."

"They are," Blanche affirmed. "I once dated an Episcopalian priest. He told me he would have proposed, if he wasn't already on his third wife."

Clare, Michelle and Erin looked dubious.

"They're only allowed three. Total," Blanche explained.

"He was married, at the time?" asked Rose, frowning.

"Well, it wasn't like he was a real priest," Blanche defended.

"Blanche!" exclaimed Dorothy. "You had an affair with an Episcopalian priest? No matter the church, he was a man of the cloth."

"Sounds like he wasn't wearing any when Blanche was around," muttered Sophia.

"Can we not contribute to the corruption of minors, Blanche, Ma, for a minute?" Dorothy asked sarcastically.

"It's okay," Clare said. "Michelle's already corrupted." Erin nodded. 

"Don't act like you're above it, Erin," Michelle said.

"What do you mean?" asked Erin, outraged. "And Clare said it!"

"You'd do a priest."

"How dare - what - " Erin sputtered.

"He had nice hair!" exclaimed James suddenly.

"Well, many Italian schoolgirls would dream of getting it on with a good-looking young priest," Sophia said. "I remember Father Vicenzo Gubbezziorino. The man could wear a cassock. And when he bent over, he had the tightest set of -"

"Ma!"

"It's true! Then he ran off with another priest."

"Are you sure? Don't they run off with nuns?" Orla asked.

"Orla!" interjected Erin.

"Nah, not Father Vicenzo," Sophia said. "And not the guy he ran off with. That would be Father Matteo. And not Father Teobaldo, either. And not Father Luciano - "

"Enough, Ma, with your gay priests!"

"There were also some great lesbian nuns," Sophia said. 

"Oo, I do like a lesbian nun," Orla said.

"Ma!" Dorothy sighed. "Let me just finish reading this entry." She referred back to her book. "The husband went on to become bishop of Derry, then primate of All-Ireland - "

"Just like Charlie," said Rose.

The girls looked at Rose curiously.

"Charlie was not the primate of All-Ireland, or the bishop of Derry. He wasn't even Catholic, for heaven's sake!" Dorothy said. "Do not give these girls wrong information. They're doing homework! I cannot let you have them fail."

"I'm curious," Orla said.

"Well, no, Charlie wasn't Irish and he was Lutheran, not Catholic. While my parents weren't excited about me marrying him because he was a traveling salesman, he did get promoted over time. We were all so proud of him."

"How does this make him like the bishop of Derry, or even the primate of All-Ireland?" Erin asked.

"He was given the title of 'Norwegian Gorilla' when he worked in the Produce Division." Rose sighed with a smile.

"Not 'Top Banana?'" suggested Sophia.

"'Top Banana' was already taken. And Charlie didn't want to be 'Topping Anything.'"

Blanche smiled. "A lot can be said for a man who knows his place."

Dorothy said faintly, "I can't believe we travelled all the way to Northern Ireland to hear any of this."

* * *

After several more graves, Sophia put her hand on Dorothy's arm. "Kitten, I gotta say it. What do you say to packing it in?"

Dorothy looked at Sophia. "You okay, Ma?"

"A little tired, maybe. Nothing to worry about."

"I think we all are a little tired," Blanche said.

Rose nodded. "It is getting late." She looked around at the young people. "Thank you so much for keeping such old people like us company."

"No, thank you," said Erin. "It was fun listening to you."

"Did you like our stories?" Blanche asked, preening.

"Oh yeah," Orla said. "I bet I can make a great report out of this."

Clare said, "Maybe someday we'll be like you, traveling around together."

Sophia pulled Dorothy over, and then after conferring with Rose and Blanche, she turned to the kids. "If you have time, and maybe call your parents, we would like to invite you to have tea with us. There's a restaurant near our hotel." Then she named the hotel.

Clare's eyes opened wide. "Yes."

"Maybe call your parents and see if it's okay first," said Sophia.

"Yes, it is. It will be," Clare nodded.

"What's going on, Clare?" asked Michelle.

"I know that hotel, I know that restaurant and I know we should go. We might never be able to go again."

"Really?" asked Erin.

Clare gripped Erin's sleeve. "They'll tell all these stories, you love that." She turned to Michelle. "There's another floozy you can get advice from." Then to Orla, she said, "She speaks your language." 

"What about me?" asked James. "What do I get out of this?"

"You just be glad there are some females who want to be in your company and not forced by family," Michelle said.

Weakly, James said, "All right, then."

"What will you get out of this, Clare?" asked Erin.

"The best Irish cream cheesecake in Derry!"

Blanche grinned at her friends. "I just knew these were girls after our own hearts."

* * *

Sister Michael sighed as she walked through her office, shuffling through a stack of multi-colored papers, containing multiple stapled sheets. She dropped the pile onto her desk. Sitting on the top of the pile was a hand lettered cover that was awash in gold stickers. It read, "Cemetery history of Derry; Faeries, Vikings, Amnesia, and the burial and reburial rituals of St. Olaf by Orla McCool."

"The shite girls write to get out of detention these days." She looked up at a large painting of Mary weeping over Jesus' body hung on the wall of her office. "Don't you agree, Mary?" She tapped the cover, thoughtfully. A moment later, a corner of her mouth quirked upward. "You're right. That's exactly what I should do. After all, it is their fault." She took the reports, opened a cupboard, and dropped them into a half-filled box labeled: "TO THE PROTESTANTS."


End file.
